


'Don't Leave'

by holhorsinaround



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Heavy Angst, Stomach Trauma, depictions of gore, depictions of panic and paranoia, physical injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 08:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17342363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holhorsinaround/pseuds/holhorsinaround
Summary: A mission being sent back to Teldrassil to search for any possible survivors as well as any salvagable supplies goes... horrific.





	'Don't Leave'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonyendo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonyendo/gifts).



He rushed forward, his arms coming up to block the forsaken's weapon before it could careen against Galletta. So as to push her out of the way. It had gleamed a sickly green even in the low sunset light-- it was evident that the poison was Sylvanas' Blight, the very same she'd used at Undercity against her own. He pushed her with his shoulder and threw his arms up. It worked-- she fell to the ground behind and to the side of him as the forsaken rushed into him.

The world around him began to fade as pain unlike pain he'd felt before swallowed him; the blade had caught under his armor, having found entry into the tiny space between an undone clasp at his waistline, flesh and fur exposed.

He crumbled to the ground, uttering a low sound as the forsaken began to burn with Holy Light at Galletta's rushed insistence, her words being drowned out by the thud, thu-thud, thu-thud of his heart.

He felt to his knees, both hands wrapping against his gut. Quickly, with deft fingers and healing magic, he shoved them under his armor and began to assess the damage; his fingers... went places that they shouldn't, wet with blood and gore, touching against muscle and tendon. Nausea welled in him as he realized what he was touching and how far into his body they went. He shook, a full body quake full of fear and pain, eyes wide.

_I can't let Galletta see. She'll worry and think it's her fault--_

He swallowed a groan of pain and pulled his fingers from where no finger should ever be, tears burning against his eyelids as new pain took their place, and hastily began to try and close the wound with his healing magic. His form of magic had always been cold, but a different cold from the pain. This time though... _Warmer_. Scarily warmer. His magic shouldn't feel that warm. He tore a hand away and pushed further up, ripping the fabric of his shirt down with more force than he thought he could will. The threads gave, tearing. His actions grew frantic. He wadded it and stuffed it to his wound, pressing it in, clasping his armor shut before it could fall away. It held tight, the buckle adding pressure against it. He hoped it'd stop the bleeding.

Galletta was still distracted by an incoming forsaken, more words and shouts and more Holy Light, sword against armor. Maybe she wouldn't see him. Maybe she wouldn't look his way.

Shaking, nearly collapsing, he pushed himself to his feet and white hot cold seared through him and blinded him. Brand new nausea welled in his throat, bile burning his esophagus, and he swallowed that down too.

Blood.

It was all over his fingers, had spilled out over his uniform. Had matted in his fur.

He stepped toward the forsaken and quickly, blindly pawed for his weapon, tugging it from his hands, yelling something incoherent and loud to fight back pain as he thrust it down and fell against him. He used his weight to make it look like he had followed through with a death blow; forsaken still produced gore, right? He could... he could hide this. He would hide this from her.

_She couldn't know because she'd worry and she'd feel guilty and--_

He gasped for air and looked behind his shoulder, his vision blurry and not returning. His thoughts became scattered.

He listened; to his left. Footsteps and then a clatter of plate as Galletta knelt behind him and wrapped her arms around him. Her hands came to rest on his stomach and he thought he was going to faint, a breath catching in his throat and growing stale. She began speaking, asking questions, seeking answers.

Are you okay.  
Were you hurt, you fell. You're not hurt are you.  
I heard you cry out.

Her words blurred in his mind and he nodded, nodded, nodded.

He was fine. It was fine and nothing was wrong. He answered her with a grunt, a funny quip, a forced laugh.

He wasn't weak. He could do this.

His father was wrong.  
He was strong.

_I have control._

He looked at his hands and made a stale joke, ha-ha look at all this blood! I didn't know forsaken could still make blood.

Cold pain continued to sear through his stomach and he continued to swallow it down, holding back the tears and the agony and the fear.

_She would leave him. He'd be dead weight and she'd leave--_

She stood and offered him a hand and he took it, his breath catching as he came up.

Was he okay, she asked. Yes, he answered. A pain-- in my leg.

They continued on, walking, him biting his tongue, biting his cheek, fists clenching, unclenching, pain pain pain. Cold and searing and on his mind and blinding, forcing him to rely on his sense of hearing, his sense of smell.

Good god. The blood, it smelled so thick. It hung heavy in the air. How did she not know. Could she not smell it?

He shivered, suddenly freezing. He'd be dead weight and she would leave him. He couldn't let her know because she'd feel guilty. She'd blame herself and nothing was her fault-- nothing was ever her fault. She was perfect.

Everything about her was perfect and he was a scared, frightened child, weak and blindly pawing his way through life, through Teldrassil, bleeding out.

Thu-thud, _thu-thud._  
**Thu-thud.**

His arms crossed over his stomach and he fell a step behind her, muttered about her leading them. He tested the healing again. Too warm, burning. It hurt. He couldn't focus. He pressed his palm against the wound through his armor, prayed, prayed. Prayed dear Bethekk above please save me.

**Author's Note:**

> Not... necessarily canon to current events (yet), just a reflective piece that builds upon a lot of inward emotional trauma and issues within Alar.
> 
> Canonically will take place on Teldrassil during a private campaign between Alar and Galletta.


End file.
